I can perceive Citizen Scientist’s creative processes about as easily as I can visit the TRAPPIST-1 solar system.
Each is veiled in its own husk of sensual bureaucracy — the former in a calloused rind of shoegaze grit, and the latter by the current limits of human achievement. We accept on blind faith that they’re really out there, orbiting far beyond our grasp, and settle on encountering them through artists’ renderings.
Zooming into a hi-res CGI image, I can imagine touching down on one of Trappist’s satellites while, in turn, mentally scrubbing my way through the grime that cakes Citizen Scientist’s EP of the same name, pressing my ear against its exoskeleton of distortion in hopes of sneaking a peek at the instrumentation.
Save for the snaking outline of an add9 chord writhing beneath the circle and the tectonic rumble of free-jazz percussion, Trappist’s atmosphere proves impenetrable. Any sound heard is sign language. The planet does what it can to communicate with the rest of the universe while taking care not to break its vow of silence.
Citizen Scientist’s creations float in a vacuum, stewing in their own juices —